SUNDAY AT HOME.
CHRIST WITH US. (By Edwin Markham). “Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these, ye did it unto Me.” I cried aloud, “There is ho Christ In all this world unparadised ! No Christ to go to in my need — No Christ to comfort me and feed ! He passed in glory out of sight, The angels drew him into light ; Now in the lonesome earth and air I cannot find him anywhere. Would God that heaven were not so far And I were where the White Ones are ! Then from the grey stones of a street Where goes an ocean drift of feet, I heard a .child’s cry trembling up, ‘And turned to share my scanty cup. When, 10, the Christ I thought was dead Was in the little one I fed ! At this I drew my aching eyes From the far-watching of the skies ; And now which ever way I turn I see my Lord’s white halo burn ! Wherever now a sorrow stands, -’Tis mine to heal His nail-worn hands ; In every lonely lane and street, mine to wash His wounded feet, ’Tis mine to roll away the Stone
And warm His heart against my own. Here, here, on Earth, I find it all — The young archangels white and tall, The Golden City and the doors. And all the shining of the floors !
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SUNDAY AT HOME., Southern Cross, Volume 14, Issue 44, 29 December 1906
SUNDAY AT HOME. Southern Cross, Volume 14, Issue 44, 29 December 1906
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